


Triggered

by Shmegz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Neglect, Drug Withdrawal, Eating Disorders, Gen, M/M, Memory Charm | Obliviate (Harry Potter), Memory Loss, Mentor Remus Lupin, Mentor Severus Snape, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pervert Lockhart, Rape Aftermath, Self-Destruction, Self-Harming Harry, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drug Use, Underage Rape/Non-con, no romantic relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28138959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shmegz/pseuds/Shmegz
Summary: After a rough summer with his family, Harry is just happy to see his friends again. He's thrilled to be going to the only place he considered home. Midway through the train ride, the Dementors board the train and Harry's life is never the same. Confused about what he felt and hearing his mum's final words, Harry's mind starts to unlock things that had been better left forgotten.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Non-Con Harry Potter/Gilderoy Lockhart, Remus Lupin & Harry Potter
Comments: 67
Kudos: 200





	1. Chapter 1: Wednesday, 1 September 1993

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the magical world are the creation of JK Rowling, I just get to create something out of what she's given us.
> 
> This is an AU of 3rd year. It will not follow the proceedings much at all to include the class schedule. Hermione will NOT have a time turner because are you serious?! Giving a 13- almost 14-year-old access to time travel so she can take extra classes? It's the stupidest thing I ever read. In my world, classes are arranged so over-achievers (and I know Hermione can't be the only one in the whole school, so where is everyone else's time turner?) can attend any or all of them they want to. This story has some triggering themes, so please read the tags. If someone is willing to beta for me to keep characters as normal as possible and ensure there aren't any plot holes that I'm missing, I'd be greatly appreciative.

It had been a long, excruciating summer for Harry Potter. With a heavy sigh, he dragged his trunk into the nearest compartment and heaved it into the overhead rack before he plopped down tiredly. He was jittery thinking about seeing his friends again. It had been too long in his opinion. There had been a flurry of letters between the three of them with Harry making sure they knew to direct the owls to only come at night. It meant a lot of sleepless nights for Harry, but it was worth it to remember he had people outside Privet Drive who liked him and cared about him. Now, after two months, he finally got to see his friends in person again.

The longest summer ever started out normally for Harry. The moment he arrived at the Dursleys, his belongings were locked away in his former bedroom, the cupboard under the stairs, and he was given an impossibly long list of grueling chores. It felt as if they saved up all the hard stuff the whole year just to give it to him when he returned from school. Cleaning the gutters, cleaning out the shed, weeding the gardens, planting a vegetable patch, mending the fence, scrubbing the house top to bottom, windows inside and out... these were all chores he was used to and was able to get into the rhythm of completing them again with little to no food. His rations for the summer had seemingly gone down since the incident with the flying car and the pudding last summer. 

One thing that had changed for the better was that his relatives barely acknowledged his existence. As long as he only got water to drink; ate only what was provided to him; completed his chores; and didn't speak to them, he was left alone to do his chores in relative peace. It wasn't until Uncle Vernon announced three weeks into the holiday that his sister Marge and her favorite dog Ripper were coming to visit for two weeks at the end of July.

 _Happy birthday, Harry,_ he thought miserably.

Having Aunt Marge in the house was a special kind of psychological torture for Harry. She would poke and prod at Harry constantly, making disparaging remarks about his weight (he looked sick and should be put out of his misery), his respect towards his "betters", his work ethic (he was useless and couldn't do anything right), and too many other things that were hard for Harry to remember. He was pretty good at tuning out her voice and continuing with his chores. It wasn't until her last week at Privet Drive when she fell ill with a summer cold that Harry's life was made so much worse. He was given the task to wait on Marge hand and foot which meant he was responsible for taking out her horrid dog that hated him and was forced to be in close contact with her. He had to listen to her tirades about his character and personality because the one time he tuned her out and she asked for something in the middle of a tirade, he was wacked with her walking stick over the head.

By the end of the second week, Marge was feeling well enough to return home to her other dogs. They celebrated with a farewell dinner made of all of Marge's favorite dishes that Harry was responsible for making. Harry's mouth watered and his stomach rumbled as he cooked the roast and potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and cheese cauliflower. Thankfully with so many vegetables in the dishes, Harry was able to nick a few carrots and cauliflower florets as he was cooking to stave his hunger, and no one was the wiser.

It was dinner that night when everything went wrong. Marge, being her usual self, wouldn't let up on verbally attacking Harry. It was when she called his mother a whore, the woman who died to save her son's life, that Harry snapped. His face flushed as he shouted back at the horrid woman, and he could feel his magic rising up around him in his fury. The hairs on his arms stood as if electrified. As she continued to berate him, wagging her fat finger and stepping menacingly towards him, she started blowing up like a balloon. The finger that had been wagging in Harry's face grew to be four times wider and longer like a balloon used to make animals and hats. She stopped advancing, starting at her finger, then hand, then arm in shock. Her whole body was quickly swelling, and she and Petunia were screaming nonsensically while Vernon had his pudgy fist around Harry's neck ordering him to stop it, to fix his sister.

When a gust of summer wind blew through the front windows, Marge, who was now floating near the ceiling, was blown right out the open back door. Harry took his uncle's distraction and shoved the hand away. He ran upstairs, dragged his photo album and invisibility cloak out of his hidey hole and grabbed Hedwig who hooted in alarm. He broke the lock on the cupboard and pulled his trunk out the front door. 

The next 24 hours were a whirlwind. Harry accidentally summoned the Knight Bus when he fell over after being startled by a dog. He got a room at the Leaky Cauldron and the next day enjoyed his freedom on Diagon Alley. He bought all his school supplies and new uniforms since he was taller this year. Hedwig enjoyed her freedom too after the innkeeper, Tom, vanished the lock on her cage. He couldn't remember feeling so carefree before. It didn't bother him in the least that he had blown up his aunt. He couldn't care if she had blown all the way to Australia.

As he was sitting down to dinner in the pub, the Minister for Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge, joined Harry. At the end of the meal, claiming the need for Harry's protection–from what, Harry didn't know because really, what could be worse than the Dursleys– the minister took him back to Privet Drive himself. He left after scolding Harry to mind his elders and don't get into mischief. The man was an idiot.

The rest of Harry's holiday was spent locked away in the crowded cupboard under the stairs. He was let out in the morning and afternoon to use the loo. He was allowed five minutes every other day to shower with cold water and brush his teeth. His aunt supplied him with a small glass of water and usually some crackers around noon every day. Other than that, Harry was forgotten. Hedwig hadn't returned after she was released from her cage, and Harry didn't blame her one bit.

So now, sitting on the train, Harry was anxious to see friendly faces for the first time in a while. He was excited to not be hated and to feel normal again. He was about an hour and a half early for the train, so he decided to occupy his mind with the summer homework he was unable to complete in his day of freedom. His trunk had been locked in with him in his cupboard, but there was barely space for Harry to move around with it sitting on its end at his feet. There was no way he was going to be able to get into it to help him get over his boredom.

He was stuck on a difficult question about uses of dung beetle larvae in potions when Ron and Hermione entered the compartment.

"Harry!" Hermione dropped her trunk in the doorway and rushed to give him a tight, one-armed hug. "Oh, I've missed you!" Her other arm was wrapped around the belly of a large, ugly, shaggy, orange cat-looking creature.

Harry couldn't attempt to fight the huge grin on his face. "You too, guys."

"Oi, 'Mione, are you going to move your trunk and let me in, or am I to stay out here blocking the hallway the entire ride?"

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Hermione grabbed her trunk, and with Harry, they lifted it easily into the racks above their heads. Ron's joined hers quickly and he sat himself heavily next to Harry.

"Who's the cat?"

"Oh! This is Crookshanks! My parents allowed me to get him for my birthday. Isn't he adorable?" Hermione gushed scratching the beast beneath the chin.

"Bloody menace, that thing is," Ron countered. "Scabbers has been scared stiff since Hermione came over with that beast." He reached into his pocket where Harry assumed Scabbers was hiding and Harry felt a ping of jealousy at his best friends getting to spend time together over the holidays.

"It's not Crookshanks's fault. He's a cat. What do you expect him to do?"

The descended into an argument, and Harry returned to his work.

Ron's head looked over his Harry's shoulder at the parchment he was writing on. "Ew! Why are you working on Potions? We have all night!"

"Ron!" Hermione said. "If Harry wants to work on his school work, let him." She turned back to Harry. "Do you need help? I finished mine ages ago."

For the next hour, Hermione and Harry worked on his Potions essay together while Ron flipped through the highlights section of Quidditch Weekly. Cat and rat seemed to be at peace for the time being. By the time the lady came around with the trolley of snacks and sandwiches, Harry was starving. He hadn't had anything since his crackers and water the day before. He bought one of each and a few extras of his favorites to save for later. As he had on his very first time to Hogwarts, Harry sat, chatted, and laughed with Ron while they ate his hoard of snacks. Hermione, picking a plum sugar quill and a bag of plain cheese crisps sat back to talk with her two best friends.

It was nearly two hours later, halfway into the trip to Hogwarts, when the train came to a screeching halt. The three of them looked out the window to see why they would have stopped, but all they saw was dark, looming trees, drapes of moss, and a fine mist. Their ride so far had been fairly dark as they passed through several rain storms and heavy clouds on the journey. They could only see around 50 meters outside the train, but they saw they were surrounded by trees. Hermione got up to check in the hall only to see a head from every one of the compartments doing the same.

"Everyone, return to your compartments, please," a man called as he walked from the rear of the train. "I'm going to check with the conductor."

"Is it me or did it just get really cold?" Hermione asked as she closed the door and returned to her seat. She shivered and pulled her cat into her chest.

"No, it feels like the temperature dropped 10 degrees," Harry responded. Glancing out the window again, Harry saw something. "It looks like someone just boarded the train, but I couldn't see who it was." 

He stood to pull his cloak out of his trunk to give to Hermione for warmth when it felt like the temperature dropped even more. His vision went dark, and his ears began ringing. He felt himself falling, but it was as if in slow motion. He lost all sense of where he was, and he never felt if he hit the ground or was still falling. The ringing got louder and louder until it morphed into the shrill scream of a woman. A slimy feeling covered him in a trail from his neck down his body like a hand's caress. It moved across his belly and progressed lower, slowly, almost sensually. 

The woman screamed again, "Not Harry!"

He couldn't move, could barely breathe. His fight or flight responses kicked in to his terror of what was happening, but he was helpless. Whatever terror was around him wasn't physical. He wasn't physical, was he? The caressing feeling didn't cease as it moved over his most sensitive and private areas. He didn't want it!

_What's happening? Don't touch me! Why are you doing this? Stop touching me! I don't want it! It hurts!_

There was a painful pressure in his head. It felt like someone was trying to smash his ears together through his skull even while his body felt pain he had never experienced before.

He felt violated. The hand-like slime feeling still running along his body. He tried to move. Tried to get the slimy feeling off him, but his arms and legs wouldn't move. The pain in his belly and lower back spiked and he nearly cried out. As his terror mounted, his panting breaths became shorter and more desperate. He was hyperventilating. He couldn't stop. A whimpering sob escaped him as he struggled for breath. His chest felt like Dudley was sitting on him, and he struggled desperately.

Suddenly, everything stopped at once, and Harry succumbed to unconsciousness gratefully.


	2. Chapter 2: Wednesday, 1 September 1993

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters belong to JKR. Sorry for the delay. I've not spent a lot of time at home since before Christmas. I'm going to try keeping up weekly postings and am still writing this story (up to Chapter 8), but finding time for editing and posting isn't as easy as I thought it was going to be. Thanks for all the reviews and kudos!

Professor Severus Snape was furious. He was hoping for just a few hours of silence before the hustle and bustle of 897 obnoxious, self-involved students. But, no. His precious few hours of silence before the Welcome Feast were being interrupted by Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived-to-Get-on-his-Very-Last-Nerve. He really should have rethought Dumbledore's suggestion of getting his Emergency Healing Potions License.

Being the resident EHPL, anything deemed an emergency in which they were called away from the castle would be seen to by both the Matron in the hospital wing and him even though she was perfectly capable of handling all emergencies herself as a licensed school matron. Of course, Potter would be the only one in his tenure to require his aid before school even started.

Severus could feel a migraine coming on. The train was scheduled to arrive in an hour and per the wolf's message, the boy was stable if unconscious. If he was stable, why the hell did they need him? Potter was probably just faking it for the attention.

He growled at the thought as he stomped to his supply cupboard and began filling his emergency potions kit with anything he could need. He threw an anti-emesis potion, a stimulant to reawaken him should the boy still be playing possum when he arrived (it was a wretched smelling accidental concoction that Severus found worked just as well as muggle smelling salts), strengthening solution, headache and calming draughts, pain and wound care potions, and the standard nutritive and dehydration potions that were used when someone hadn't eaten or drank before taking some of the harsher remedies.

He felt somewhat better when he slammed the door to his office on his way out and stalked up the stairs from his solitary haven.

* * * * * 

Slowly, consciousness began to return to Harry. He first noticed soft murmuring around him, but he couldn't understand the words. Then his nose picked up the smell of chocolate. A comforting warmth surrounded his body. Then suddenly he was stricken with pain. An excruciating headache. Worse than pulling weeds in the garden in the blazing summer sun after a few days without food and only a small glass of water. Worse than Marge's walking stick knocking him over the head. His brain felt like it was going to explode out of his skull, and he let out a little groan of discomfort.

The indecipherable murmuring grew louder, and he felt a shift next to his head.

"–ry."

"Wa– up."

"Har–"

Someone was trying to say his name? Blood was rushing through his ears. A weight settled on his shoulder, and he jolted up at the feeling of a hand on him. "Don't touch me!" he gasped. The vertigo of going from unconscious to sitting up, as well as the pounding headache caused him to lean over and vomit out his stomach. He felt dizzy and cold. When the vomiting subsided, the feeling of the hand on his shoulder remained, and he skittered back against the window of the compartment.

"Harry," Hermione's soft voice broke through his panic. "It's ok; you're ok. Ron, go get Professor Lupin."

Through his dazed vision, Harry saw Ron give a sharp nod and turn, leaving down the hall. As his vision began to clear and his panic started ebbing, he was able to control his breathing. Hermione was seated on the bench by his feet looking on the verge of tears, the cat dutifully by her side. It must've been her hand on him. He had managed to scrunch himself against the wall of the compartment, half sitting, half laying in an uncomfortable position. The cold metal of the wall settling the chill deeper into his body, but he couldn't move.

When his eyes next rolled open, h groaned and closed them again tightly as the lights from the compartment pierced his skull. "Nox," he heard murmured by Hermione and the painful bright disappeared. He sighed in relief.

"Harry, can you try to eat some chocolate?"

His stomach gave a flip at how close she sounded, but he opened his eyes and nodded.

An opened bar was passed to him. "We're almost to Hogwarts. Ron went to get the professor on board. I think he saved us all."

As clarity in his mind caught up with his vision, Harry slowly sat up. He took a timid bite of the chocolate as he pressed his back against the cold wall. He noticed then that he was shivering as Hermione reached over to the floor and picked up a thick winter cloak, handing it to him. At first, his mind couldn't figure out what she wanted him to do with it, then as another shiver wracked his body, he gratefully took it and draped it over himself like a blanket. He continued to nibble the chocolate.

"Wha– happened?" His voice was rough and scratchy. The sound made him wince.

"Dementors. They're guards from Azkaban. They were on the train looking for Sirius Black. You were reaching up in your trunk for something and then you were just on the floor, moaning and thrashing. Almost like you were having a seizure. Then, a silver, bear-like shape frightened them and chased them off the train. Professor Lupin came running in then, and you were unconscious."

"Who's Prof–"

Just then, the door to the compartment opened, and Harry startled. A kind-looking, shabby man with sandy hair going grey entered the compartment. Unconsciously, Harry shrank further into the corner of the wall, his chocolate forgotten.

"Harry? How are you feeling?" the man asked, kneeling down on the floor closer to Harry.

"I–I'm fine. I d–don't need anything." The man's face was warm as he looked at Harry. Almost as if he cared about him.

"I'm glad to hear that." 

Hermione quickly cut in. "He vomited when he woke up, and I think he has a headache. I vanished the mess and turned out the lights."

The man nodded, not moving his eyes from Harry. "Do you mind if I do a quick diagnostic charm on you to make sure you're really ok?"

Feeling slightly better that this man wasn't going to get any closer to him, Harry nodded. As it was running, the man chatted a bit. "I'm Professor Lupin. I'll be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year." The charm stopped and he smiled somewhat sadly. "You're ok. You've a headache and need some food and fluids, but otherwise, you're fine just like you said. We'll be at Hogwarts in 10 minutes, and we'll have Madame Pomfrey give you the thumbs up." Lupin smiled warmly as he stood from his kneeling position and sat on the seat across from him. 

"You two should go get changed," he said with a quick nod at the door. Hermione and Ron grabbed their robes and headed to the loo at the end of the hall. Harry felt a strange fearfulness settle over him when the compartment door shut behind his two friends.

"Eat," he said nodding at the bar of chocolate forgotten in Harry's hand. "It'll help. I promise."

Harry obliged with a little nibble, his stomach still feeling tetchy. "Did anyone else..." He didn't know how to explain it. He wasn't even sure what happened.

Lupin seemed to understand though. "No, but it's ok. Dementors feed on happiness. Some people are just more susceptible to them than others. People who have a traumatic past, for instance. Several of your classmates were crying"

The answer didn't make Harry feel any better. "How long was I out?"

"About two and a half hours. Your magic was probably pretty depleted after an encounter like that." 

Harry nodded, and they slipped into silence.

The compartment opened again and Ron entered followed shortly after by Hermione. They placed their clothes in their trunks and sat down, Ron beside him and Hermione beside the professor.

"What was the silver bear, Professor?" Hermione asked, always seeking out new knowledge.

The professor grinned. "It was a Patronus Charm. Very difficult to achieve initially, but once you've tapped into that magic, it's almost always readily available. It's the only thing that keeps Dementors away."

"I think I read about those in a book last year." She seemed to think for a moment. "Yes, it was in Charming Charms. Only a handful of people are able to find enough emotion to create one."

Lupin smiled at Hermione. "You're right. Every professor at Hogwarts knows how to make one."

"Even Snape?!" Ron looked in horror. "He has emotions?"

"Ron!" Hermione hissed as Lupin just smiled gently.

"It's Professor Snape, and yes, it is a requirement for hire. More especially this year. You shouldn't speak about your professors like that, Mr. Weasley." The rebuke was gentle like everything seemed to be about this professor.

"Why especially this year?"

Lupin smiled at Hermione. "The Minister for Magic has decided to place Dementors around the perimeter of the school to protect Britain's youth from the evil Sirius Black," he said this as if he was telling a fairy tale, but after meeting the Dementors, Harry felt it was more a horror film.

The train brakes began squealing and the lights of Hogsmeade, the town outside Hogwarts, came into view. Harry was still feeling off. The thought of being in the Great Hall, happily chattering to his friends who he hadn't heard from all summer made him feel queasy and nervous. He didn't want to be around anyone right now. Not until he sorted out his feelings and why he suddenly felt like he was dirty. His skin felt like spiders were crawling all over him, and several times he had to make sure they weren't.

When the train stopped, there was a loud disembarkation of everyone rushing to get to the Great Hall for the sorting of the new students. Harry felt his cheeks flame as people looked in at him still sitting in the compartment with his friends and a professor. It was embarrassing, but their eyes only made him feel more disgusting.

"You two should go," Professor Lupin told Ron and Hermione.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, you go. I'm fine." He tried to give them a comforting smile, and he hope he succeeded. He could hear the tremble in his voice and prayed that no one else did. In fact, he was terrified of being left alone with this professor who had been nothing but kind and gentle to him.

"Ok, if you're not in the common room later, we'll come visit you in the hospital wing. We should get a plaque and dedicate that bed for your use only," Ron tried joking, but it fell short knowing that Harry had just been unconscious. "See ya, mate."

"Bye, Harry," Hermione said giving him one last concerned look. She and Ron were the last ones to leave the train and he heard Madame Pomfrey and Professor Snape down the hall tell them to hurry so they could catch a carriage.

The school healer entered the compartment before Snape and sat down on the bench next to Harry. She immediately took out her wand, and Harry flinched when it was pointed at him. "Sorry," he murmured feeling shame at his reaction. He watched as her smile faded just a bit from her eyes.

"No worries, Mr. Potter. Can you tell me what happened as I run a general diagnostic charm on you?"

Harry's mouth suddenly felt dry. "I–I was reaching into my trunk to get my cloak be–because it got cold, and Hermione was shivering. I don't th–think I grabbed it before I heard screaming and felt like I was falling."

"Screaming?" Lupin asked, prompting for more information.

Harry looked up from where he was picking at the skin around his nails. "There wasn't a woman who screamed?"

"No one screamed, Harry."

"Yes, someone did!" Suddenly he felt anger wash over him like a tsunami. He wasn't crazy. He knew what he heard. "She screamed 'not Harry'."

Harry looked up at Snape who sucked in the loudest breath. His professor was paler than he usually was. Snape cleared his throat. "I believe he heard his mother," he told the compartment in general.

His mother? Why would his mum scream like that? Suddenly it clicked in his mind. He was hearing his mum's dying words. The Dementor had unlocked something in his mind that he knew he shouldn't have remembered.

"What happened next, Harry?"

He got distracted for a moment watching the house elves dart around with people's trunks floating around them. He licked his lips. How could he even explain what happened? He wasn't even sure what happened.

"I don't know," he answered honestly, but didn't elaborate. The squirmy feeling in his stomach had intensified. "Then I woke up."

Madame Pomfrey gave a sharp nod. "Severus, please provide Mr. Potter with a headache reliever, nutrition potion, and electrolyte elixir. He's five stones, five." Harry felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment. Hermione even weighed more than he did by two stones. 

Snape pulled a kit from his pocket, enlarged it, measured out some potions into smaller vials, and handed over the potions needed.

Harry quickly swallowed what was offered, trying not to gag at the taste.

"Now, how are you feeling?" Madame Pomfrey asked.

"Better," he responded. "Thanks."

Madame Pomfrey smiled at him and stood from her position. "Let's get to the feast then, shall we? Gentlemen, if you want to head to the feast, I'll escort Mr. Potter once he's changed into his robes. Just send a carriage back for us if there are none."

Harry grabbed his uniform from his trunk and headed to the loo. Once he was dressed and took care of business, he went to wash his hands. Maybe he could scrub the dirty feeling from his hands at least. He turned on the hot water tap and used a lot of soap. He was rinsing his hands when he happened to glance up and catch his reflection in the mirror. His face was pale, and his eyes were rimmed red with deep purple bruises beneath.

It was then that he noticed the water was burning him, and he looked down at his hands. They were red, but Harry realized he didn't feel that feeling anymore. Anywhere. He turned off the tap and grabbed his t-shirt to dry them. It felt abrasive against his sensitive hands, but still, no creepy-crawly feeling. 

When he returned to the compartment, Madame Pomfrey was waiting for him. He stuffed his clothes into his trunk. He wasn't sure what Madame Pomfrey would do if she saw how red his hands still were from the water, but he figured it wouldn't be good. He decided to keep his robes over them as much as possible.

A silent carriage ride and 10 minutes later found them walking up to the Great Hall. He froze outside the doors, afraid of the whispering that would happen and the stares. "Madame Pomfrey, I'm not feeling all that hungry. Would it be ok to go to my dorm?"

She looked at him as if trying to figure him out. "How about I order you a light fare in the hospital wing. I was going to request you stay the night just in case you have any lingering effects of the Dementors anyway."

She seemed surprised and smiled broadly when Harry put up no fight and turned to go upstairs.

* * * * *

Severus had been feeling nauseous since Potter's tale. And that's what it was. An attention-seeking, tall tale. A niggle in the back of his mind told him that it could entirely be true. Dementors were known for pulling out memories so deep that they are able to break memory charms that were placed over an individual's worst memory. But he ignored that rationale and scowled as he left the train.

There was one carriage waiting for them and he was going to have to share it with Lupin. In addition to his nausea, he was now feeling a panicky chill run down his spine. He would never let the man know he was terrified just being in his presence. They were only a few days passed the full moon, so the wolf (whom he provided wolfsbane to starting upon his hiring) would still be close to the surface.

Severus tried to nonchalantly stay as far away from the man as he could within the confines of the carriage. He stared out the window to discourage conversation.

"It's nice to see you again, Severus," Lupin said softly.

Severus felt like growling as he sneered at the monstrosity on the other side of the carriage. "Let's get this straight right now. Do not pretend that we are old chums. We are not, have not, and will never be even acquaintances. You stay out of my way, wolf, or my hand just may slip when adding the aconite to the potion, or I might mistakenly add some liquid silver." He turned back to the window feeling more infuriated than he had at losing his pre-term solitude. The nerve of the wolf thinking he was even worthy of being near Severus.

This summer had seen a return of nightmares long forgotten. When the Dementors arrived at Hogwarts in mid-August, Albus decided it was the perfect time to announce the new Defense teacher. Severus thought those were long buried and spent an inordinate amount of time in solitude, constructing thicker, stronger Occlumency walls around that memory from when they were teenagers. That stunt Black pulled was what finally pushed Severus to the Dark Lord's side. Black, the disgusting black sheep of the Black family. Praised and doted on by Dumbledore, had half the teachers eating out of the palm of his hand. 

It was that moment, staring dumbly at the jagged teeth of a fully transformed werewolf, when he knew if he wanted protection or favor, he would need to find it himself. The Dark Lord was only all too pleased to have him join and was even the one who partially funded his mastery. Severus's brewing skills at Hogwarts had been legendary beyond the castle walls. And the Dark Lord had been solicitous with Severus when he completed his apprenticeship and received the title of the youngest potions master. He had been invaluable from then on. It made him feel powerful at 20, like he was important. It was what any young man wanted, and he gladly provided services to his Lord.

His allegiance to the Dark Lord changed though. The moment the Dark Lord targeted Lily a year and a half later because of a prophesy Severus overheard, Severus went to beg for the protection of his best friend. Lily had always been there for him growing up. She was there when they received their Hogwarts letters, their first train ride, the first school dance third year where Severus didn't even want to go, but she begged him until he relented. Despite their houses and their very different groups of friends, Lily and Severus remained close. They remained great friends until he screwed it all up with his wounded pride and called her something he had never said before.

He knew the friendship was over between them when she glared furiously at him before stalking off. Her eyes held a level of anger and even hate he had never seen in her before. It made him feel like his chest had just been ripped apart by a mountain troll. Not even his most sincere apologies would thaw the coldness in which she looked at him. Their graduation was the last time he ever saw her alive.

Now, he was emotionally manipulated into protecting hers and Potter's brat to atone for the sin of getting her killed. It was a sin for which he would never be able to atone.

* * * * *

Remus Lupin sat across the carriage from Severus glancing at him every few minutes. He understood the man's hatred toward him. He understood the fear he must feel, but the Slytherin wouldn't allow him to formally apologize as he had planned. They were kids. That "prank" nearly cost two people their lives, Remus included. It was afterwards that Remus started pulling away from his friends which contributed to the distrust when the war really picked up.

He had also planned to meet his best friends' son in class for the first time. He knew the wolf was close to the surface and would influence his emotions towards the boy whom he hadn't seen since shortly after Harry was born. He wanted to get to know him as a student before allowing his feelings for his parents to take away from knowing the child as himself. Harry was 13 now. He had his own likes and dislikes, his own personality and intelligence. He wanted to know Harry as himself and not as James or Lily.

Remus's breath caught when he saw the boy arrive before anyone else. He looked so much like his father. It brought him back to meeting James for the first time and the devastating grief he felt that they never fully reconciled before his death. It had been James's idea for them to become animagi and he was the one who penned the words to the oath they swore to each other.

He glanced at Severus again feeling as if this might be a long school year. He knew Severus wouldn't actually poison him. Well, he hoped anyways. There had to be a redeeming quality in the man for him to have been friends with Lily for so long. He would play by the man's rules though. He wouldn't avoid him completely, no, but he wouldn't seek him out to apologize.


	3. Thursday, 2 September 1993

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure this chapter turned out how I wanted it to, but I hope you enjoy! Thank you for all reviews and kudos!

The next morning, Harry knew he had to face everyone. He hadn't slept at all last night. 

After dinner, he took a hot shower and scrubbed his body hard before changing into hospital pajamas. Madame Pomfrey had already retired to the flat behind her office and told him to say her name if he needed anything. Her monitoring charm would alert her. The twitchy feeling had returned as he ate the pumpkin soup he was provided, and immediately his stomach tied itself in knots. He was able to eat a couple more bites before he felt like he was going to vomit.

Madame Pomfrey had not allowed Ron and Hermione to visit him, and he was weirdly grateful. He didn't know why, but he felt like he couldn't face them or anyone. 

He had taken another shower when he woke, but he still felt unclean. His dreams the night before had been of the slime transforming into hands. Soft hands kneading his shoulders then running down his naked front. Hot, breath-like huffs were on his neck and ear. It tickled but he couldn't move to swat it away. His arms and legs were frozen. All he could do was see, breathe, and feel, but in the world of this dream he didn't want any of those senses. He woke up wanting to vomit several times throughout the night. He had rushed into the toilet twice to expel his meager dinner. Thankfully, Madame Pomfrey slept through it. He felt embarrassed enough as it was.

He shuddered as he fiddled with his tie, his hands shaking. He was dreading going to breakfast. He was dreading being around so many people. He was exhausted. He pulled his robe on and fastened it. 

Madame Pomfrey had just stepped out her door and smiled. "Off to breakfast?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then off you go. And Mr. Potter," she called as he opened the infirmary door, "I hope I don't see you again this term."

He smiled shyly. "Me too."

He went to his dorm, taking his time to go to breakfast. No one was around, so Harry guessed it was pretty late. He grabbed his bookbag from his bed where the elves must've placed it and left the tower. Every step closer made his breathing more erratic and his gait stutter. He felt as if he was walking to his death not to a breakfast feast. He couldn't do it. He couldn't face everyone after he had reacted so badly to the Dementors. He'd be the laughing stock of the school. But if he didn't go, he wouldn't get his timetable.

He hesitated for one more minute before taking a deep, fortifying breath and forcing his legs to carry him inside.

Of course, the entire school was in the Great Hall to stare at him as he walked in late. Of course, Justin Finch-Fletchly, who still seemed to resent Harry from last year's debacle, had to make a quip about how dainty Harry must be to have fainted. A spatter of giggles followed his comments, but Harry just tightened his jaw and ignored it to the best of his ability. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he could feel the sweat run down his back. He fought a shiver at the feeling. The thin trail of sweat was too similar to the slime in his dream, his vision, whatever.

"Potter, it's good to see you. Here is your schedule," Professor McGonagall said as she stepped around him and went about passing out the timetables to everyone. 

Harry made his way to an empty spot next to Hermione and quickly sat down holding his bag in his lap as a sort of comfort.

"Harry! You're back!" Hermione squealed as she reached as if to hug him. 

"Don't touch me!" Harry gasped before he even had a chance to think about it. He had shoved himself out of Hermione's reach.

She looked crushed. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I just don't want anyone touching me after, you know."

"Ok, Harry," her voice was subdued as she turned back to her breakfast a lot less enthusiastically, and Harry knew he hurt her feelings.

"Harry, mate, what happened?"

"It's hard dealing with the staring," he said lowly, picking up a plain piece of toast. It was probably all he could handle in his stomach this morning. The eyes around the Great Hall felt like they were burning into his soul. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to react like that."

"It's ok, Harry. I understand." She kept her eyes on the book that she had been reading when he entered. It was their Potions text, so he figured that was first on their schedule. Hermione had a tendency to read for the upcoming class during meals. It wasn't like she hadn't already read the entire book over the summer hols, but she liked to "refresh her memory."

He looked down at his schedule and sighed. Of course, he would have potions on the first day of classes, on a day when he was already struggling with anxiety. He nibbled at his toast, finishing half of it and half of his pumpkin juice before he couldn't tolerate anymore. "I'm going to head up and grab my books for classes," he said as an excuse to get away. He stood up and swung his bag over his shoulder. "See you in potions, yeah?"

"Wait! I'll come with," Ron offered, grabbing a couple pieces of bacon for the trip.

Harry gratefully left the staring eyes behind as he and Ron headed back to their dorm. "Hermione and her cat are driving me and Scabbers mental. He's been looking sick since she brought the beast by. You don't really need to get your book, do you? Hermione taught us the shrinking charm."

"No, I just couldn't stay in there with the whispering and staring," Harry replied instead walking towards the dungeons.

"What happened, mate? Dragon Lady wouldn't let us come see you!"

Harry gave a halfhearted grin at his friend's nickname for the healer. "I don't know. I just wasn't feeling right." He knew he should share what happened, but he didn't know how to explain half of it. "I heard my mum," he offered instead.

"Your mum?" Ron questioned with a bewildered look.

"Yeah. I heard screaming, then I heard her scream 'Not Harry', and I passed out." He shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, but he hoped it would be enough to satiate Ron's curiosity without Harry having to explain the other part.

Ron nodded, "Sorry, mate, that's gotta be rough. I'm sure I'd be a little messed up, too."

The potions classroom door was still closed, so Harry and Ron just loitered outside, talking about this year's quidditch teams. Tryouts were barely even a thought this early in the year, but he knew within the month, he'd be expected to perform. Normally, he wouldn't be able to wait until then to get in the air, but for some reason, this year, he wasn't sure what he was feeling.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, early for once in your lives, I see," Snape said gliding down the hallway from the direction of the Great Hall. He flicked his wand and the door opened.

Harry ignored the jibe. It wasn't like it mattered anyways. They followed Snape into the room and took their seats at their usual table. Hermione was the next to enter, her book at her side with her finger holding her place. She looked a bit surprised to see Ron and Harry already there, and she made her way over to them, setting her bag at the seat next to Harry.

"You could have just told me if you wanted guys time, Harry," Hermione stated somewhat bitterly. "I know for a fact you already had your books with you."

"It wasn't that, Hermione!" Harry really didn't want to fight with her. It was for no reason too. He was afraid of being touched and yelled at Hermione before his brain caught up with his mouth. And he just couldn't handle being in the Great Hall. 

"Shove off, 'Mione. Give the guy a break. He heard his mum screaming for him when the Dementor came," Ron stated matter-of-factly as he leaned around Harry to talk to her.

"What?" she gasped just as Snape brought the room to attention. Somewhere in their conflict, the rest of the class entered. He was thankful Ron's announcement to Hermione wasn't loud enough for anyone outside their little group to hear. Harry felt like there would be a whole new reason to make fun of him if they knew that he heard his mummy.

Harry tried to pay attention in class to the lecture Snape was giving on the shrinking solution, but he was hyper-focused on everyone around him instead. He saw the scribbling of Dean out of the corner of his eye. Most likely he was drawing an ink portrait instead of taking notes. Hermione was furiously writing every word coming out of the professor's mouth on the other side of him. Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy behind him were following along in the book and taking notes on their pages. Blaise Zabini was whispering an explanation to Greg Goyle. He could feel everyone's breaths fluttering through the air, feel their eyes when they took a moment to glance at him as they always did. The shuffle of feet as Neville toed the floor while taking notes. Everything seemed to be so much more in focus than the topic of the lecture.

"Potter!" Snape barked causing Harry to flinch violently and nearly fall out of his chair. He caught his chair and himself on the corner of the table.

"Scared much, Potter?" Malfoy laughed from behind him setting off the rest of the class including a few Gryffindors.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for daydreaming in class, Mr. Potter."

Harry righted himself and his chair quickly and started trying harder to pay attention to the professor. He was relieved when ten minutes later, Snape was done and instructed them to gather their ingredients. Harry stayed where he was as the rest of the class rushed to gather their supplies. He pretended to be writing down the ingredients needed when he felt Snape walk up behind him.

"Dawdling, Potter? Are you too good to get your ingredients like everyone else?"

Harry had frozen the moment Snape was at his shoulder. He felt his hands shaking, but he didn't know why. He cleared his throat knowing Snape would want an answer. "N-no, sir. J-just waiting for others to go first." Harry didn't need to look at his professor to know that he was annoyed. He kept his eyes on his parchment and his hands in his lap.

"Very well," Snape said quietly before stalking away back to the front of the classroom. Now that half the class had gotten to their seats and another good portion were making their way back, Harry got up and went to the cupboard. 

"Here, mate. I got extra for you," Ron said holding out the tray of ingredients. 

Harry was so relieved he didn't know what to say other than a breathless, "Thanks." 

What was wrong with him? Why was he so nervous and on edge about everything? He hadn't ever had any problems like this before. He followed Ron back to their seats. Also, what was wrong with Snape? He didn't berate Harry? Didn't call him incompetent or useless or lazy?

They were deep into making their potions, Snape stalking around the classroom berating Gryffindors for their "incompetence". 

"Mr. Finnegan, unless you want your potion to blow up in your face–which might be an improvement–you'll slice your shrivelfig and not mangle it." 

Where his professor's acerbic tone would usually burn a fire in Harry's gut in anger, he just felt frazzled and fragile. He held himself so severely still so as not to jump at every growl of Snape. 

What happened to him on the train? Obviously, he had some repressed memory, somehow, of when he was a toddler. His mother's scream. Then the feelings. It was the slimy, caressing feeling that made Harry feel so out of sorts. Of course, hearing what was probably his mum's dying words wasn't doing him any favors, but the phantom touches really set him off.

A heavy hand came down on his shoulder, and he gasped loudly, thrown into some memory, something he couldn't understand. The hand on his shoulder seemed to lovingly squeeze the back of his neck like Harry had seen Mr. Weasley do with Ron or the twins last summer. Then it casually slid around his front and down his chest softly, almost reverently. He felt a second hand brushing through his hair, across his jaw, lifting his chin gently...

"Potter!"

Harry gasped as a potion was forced into his mouth, causing him to inhale some of it. He started coughing loudly, trying to get his breathing under control as his mind started to clear. "Potter, breathe with me. In... 2...3...4...Out..."

Harry tried to copy the voice, but he was panting and coughing. It didn't stop, though. It continued to coach him through getting his breathing to even out and after a moment, once he felt the potion loosen his muscles and calm his mind, he was able to copy.

"Good. Keep breathing."

After a minute, Harry looked up. Professor Snape was kneeling beside him with an empty vial. Hermione was watching anxiously over the professor's shoulder, but the rest of the classroom was empty. 

"Mr. Potter, what happened?"

Harry looked around. It was Hermione, Ron, and Professor Snape left in the classroom. There wasn't a cauldron in sight. "My potion," he murmured without much care but knew he had been working on it.

"Class was dismissed," Professor Snape said. "What happened?"

Harry was feeling pretty numb now, tired but relaxed. He must've been given a calming draught. "I don't know." He looked down at his hands in his lap, studying them as a weird tingling diminished. His head cleared more from the effects of the initial rush of calm induced by the potion.

Suddenly he sat up straight with a gasp, looking around. "What happened?"

"That's what I asked you. You started having a panic attack when I tried to stop you from adding leeches without first juicing them. It would have caused an explosion."

"I don't know what happened." He knew what happened. He had a flashback, but of what, he didn't know, and he didn't know how to explain it. No one had ever touched him in such a loving way. He had occasional hugs from Hermione and slaps on the shoulder from Ron. Mrs. Weasley gave him a hug once, but other than that, no one had touched him except the Dursleys and no one could mistake their touches as loving.

Now that his head was cleared and he was feeling mostly normal, he started grabbing his things and shoving them into his bookbag.

"Mr. Potter, you need to go see Madame Pomfrey."

"I'm fine, professor," he said dismissively, standing up and swinging his bag on his shoulder. "I've got to get to my next class."

"Harry, I think you need to go see the nurse," Hermione agreed.

"Yeah, mate, that was weird."

Harry turned to glare at Ron. "I said I'm fine. I don't need to see her. I need to get to my next class."

"Potter, don't pretend to know what's best. A panic attack in class is not normal."

"I'm fine!" Harry shouted brushing past his professor and his friends. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? He knew he wasn't normal! Nothing about him was normal. He was a freak.

Hermione and Ron rushed and caught up with him on the stairs leading from the dungeons. "Harry, we just want to make sure you're ok. You've been off since the Dementor. And now a panic attack in class? I'm worried for you," Hermione said, all issues she had with Harry's attitude this morning gone.

"I'm fine. I don't know what I have to say or do to get you to understand. We have to get to Divination, right?"

Without saying any more, the three of them traipsed through the hallway to the North Tower. Thankfully, Hermione had thought to ask Percy where the North Tower was this morning or the three of them would have been lost.

* * * * *  
Severus watched dispassionately as the boy stormed from the room. There was something strange going on with Potter, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Potter had never been prone to panic attacks that Severus was aware of, and he would be aware since he was responsible for brewing the anxiety potions for Poppy. Currently, there were five students, all in the upper years who were prone to anxiety and panic attacks.

Potter's two sycophants chased after the boy.

Severus carried the empty vial to the sink to wash it, puzzling over the child's odd behavior. That flinch was something he recognized in himself as a boy. Loud noises and shouts usually were followed by some of his father's loving beatings. But Potter was the spoiled Gryffindor prince. He had no fear of less than friendly encounters with those closest to him. 

Was Potter still suffering from the Dementor? The boy's skin had been clammy, and he was pale throughout class. Arrogant Potter didn't possess a stutter either. All of this didn't make sense, and Severus hated when something didn't make sense. Him hearing his mother's dying words should not have affected him in the way he was reacting. Depression would have been more understandable, not this fear and panic the boy displayed.

He hated that Potter was making him feel concern for him. The boy received too much attention as it was.

With a flick of his wand, Severus banished the lingering fumes from abominable potion-making and set about preparing for his sixth-year class, pushing Potter from his mind.


	4. Thursday, 2 September 1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day. I'm feeling bored and since I have no prospects on a date for today, I figured I'd treat you all with another chapter! Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

They entered class late, and everyone stopped to look at them when they entered. "Oh! My final students have arrived as I knew they would." The woman standing at the front of the class was small with overly large, thick glasses that magnified her eyes in an almost comical way. The lenses and frames took up nearly the entirety of her face. "Come in, come in! Sit, sit! Now as I was saying..."

Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat around a low table where only Neville was sitting cross-legged on a cushion. Neville caught Harry's eye and mouthed, "Are you ok?" Harry nodded and turned his attention to the professor. 

The classroom was warm and there was a heavy scent in the air. It was almost a familiar scent. The smell triggered a memory of a classroom, but Harry couldn't grip the thought before it vanished. It left him feeling on edge a bit though. The calming draught was still keeping the sharp edge off his anxiety, Harry realized.

The whole class was a waste. He ended up joking with Ron and Neville the whole time, sniggering as they read each other's tea leaves and compared it to what was written in the book. 

Hermione's frustration was evident as they left class. "I don't know why I thought to take this class," she muttered. "Really, the grim? That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard." 

Harry was in much better spirits as he listened to his friends bicker around him. "It's true, Hermione! The grim is always spotted right before someone dies!"

Harry couldn't be upset with the death omen even if he had been startled by the large, black dog on Privet Drive. The calming draught was working wonders on his mood, and he just waved the warning off. Maybe regularly taking the calming draught would help keep those weird feelings and the unknown fears at bay. He'd have to do a little more research.

By the end of classes that day, Harry was exhausted. The effects of the calming draught were almost gone and the stirring of nervousness and anxiety was starting to flutter in his stomach. With Hermione in her final class of the day, Ancient Runes, Harry and Ron spent a leisurely afternoon playing Exploding Snap and chess, avoiding the homework they already had assigned, and keeping Crookshanks away from Scabbers.

Harry counted himself lucky that, after Transfiguration, he had the rest of the afternoon off. His mood was definitely crashing, so sitting in the common room with Ron and only a few others was perfect in Harry's opinion. Despite his anger earlier, Harry was just as worried about the flashback he had in Potions. He just didn't know what it meant, what it was about.

It wasn't until he was in the darkness of his dorm, his curtains closed around his bed, and the soft breathing and snores from the other boys that he felt a spike of fear shoot through him like a bolt of lightning. His chest felt tight in his panic, and he forced himself to slow down his breathing and stifle it to avoid waking his dormmates. 

Friday, 3 September 1993

After spending the night huddled under his blankets, shivering but not from the cold, Harry was exhausted. He had managed to doze a bit throughout the night, but any slight change of the air, sound in the dorm, or settling of the blankets around him would jerk him right back awake. He was thankful when the night was finally over, and Neville, the earliest riser of the lot, started gathering his toiletries.

Harry waited a few more moments before he too got out of bed and gathered his things, heading to the showers. He hoped the warm water of the shower would help to wake him up a bit so he could get through classes. He had to take a deep steadying breath as he entered the shower room. 

"Morning," Neville mumbled through a mouth of toothpaste.

Harry mumbled back before he ducked into a shower stall with all his things. Before, he and the other boys had no problems walking around in their shorts or a towel, but Harry couldn't fathom not emerging from the stall fully clothed. He felt disgusted by himself and couldn't stand the thought of seeing him beneath his clothes.

Again, he scrubbed himself until his skin was prickling and pink, the water scalding. The abuse to his skin had the effect of waking him from his exhausted state, but he was still feeling off. Every little sound, every whoosh of air had him straightening. He hurriedly dressed in the stall and scooped up his things to leave.

"Mate, you're up early," Ron said. He was standing at the mirror brushing his teeth in only his shorts. The sight, having never bothered Harry before, made him feel uneasy. 

"Yeah, couldn't sleep," he muttered, ducking out of the room. He felt queasy and anxious as he fumbled with his tie, trying to ignore the states of dress and undress of the other boys. "I'll be downstairs," Harry called as Ron came out of the bathroom. Without another thought, he grabbed his bag and swung it over his shoulder.

He knew Ron and Hermione would know something was up if he didn't wait for them to go to breakfast. He didn't need more questions and concerned looks. He needed to pretend that he was himself, that everything was fine, that his insides weren't wriggling in uneasiness and anxiety. He needed to get his hands on more calming draught. Maybe he could sneak some from Snape's potions cupboards or maybe Madame Pomfrey's would be easier to get. Maybe he should just look for something he could brew himself.

He was so lost in thoughts that he didn't notice Hermione's arrival until she sat beside him. He stopped mid-flinch, stamping down his automatic reaction. 

"Didn't mean to scare you," Hermione apologized. She slung her bag on the table in front of them and got comfortable. "You look like you're thinking hard this morning."

Harry knew she wouldn't just let him be, so he did his best to muster a grin. "Yeah, I was thinking about how much I can't wait for the weekend."

"We just started classes! How can you already be ready for the weekend? There are so many classes we haven't gotten to sit in yet."

Harry's forced smile turned genuine at Hermione's appalled answer. It was always funny to him how education was always the most fundamental thing in Hermione's eyes. It was so innocent, so Hermione. A pang of sadness shot through him for an instant reminding him that he had never been that innocent. When he was going to get his next meal or how to avoid his uncle's ire had always been the most essential thing on his mind as long as he could remember.

They chatted about their expectations for Professor Lupin's class that morning as Harry struggled to ignore the unease that coursed through him at every loud noise and unexpected movement from the students scurrying to get to breakfast. After meeting Lupin and learning how he had helped him on the train, Harry was looking forward to seeing how his class was going to be. It definitely couldn't be worse than last year's DADA class.

As the name Lockhart floated through Harry's head, his nausea overwhelmed him. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he pushed his way through his housemates and into the common room toilets. He could hear Hermione's and someone else's shouts over the sound of his heaving as he expelled bile.

Harry flinched hard when a hand started soothing across his back. He didn't have anything left in his stomach, but the heaving continued, cramping his insides like a vice. The hand didn't stop its slow strokes and soon, Harry calmed. When he tiredly pushed away from the toilet and collapsed against the stall wall, a wet cloth was dabbed over his mouth. The feeling gave him a jolt, but he was too exhausted for his body to react more than elevating his already pounding heartrate. Someone was talking to him, but he couldn't open his eyes. He just wanted to sleep. 

An incessant patting on his cheeks roused him enough to open his eyes and he saw the visage of Madame Pomfrey in front of him. As his eyes cleared, his ears started registering the sounds around him.

"Mr. Potter?" Madame Pomfrey's voice was the first to cut through the haze and was quickly followed by the murmuring of others. "Mr. Potter, can you hear me?"

Swallowing thickly, Harry nodded his head slightly, the movement feeling like a doll's head with a broken neck. It didn't feel connected. "Can you stand?"

At first her words didn't register, but her getting to her feet and crouching to try and help him up aided his understanding. Everything around him felt like it wasn't real. He was in a haze as he struggled to get his uncooperative legs beneath him. He felt numb and empty as someone helped him up. He felt like the ground beneath him wasn't solid, but he was being held up on both sides.

Very slowly, his senses returned to him. He first noticed he was being aided by Katie Bell on one side and Ron on the other. He started violently, his heart skipping at the feeling of being touched but not knowing why or how or when it started.

"Mate, you ok?" Ron asked in concern. His eyes wide.

Madame Pomfrey had stopped their procession, and Harry shrugged away from the hands holding him up. "I'm fine. What happened?"

"Come, let's get you to the hospital wing." Madame Pomfrey went to reach for his arm to guide him, but he pulled away.

"No, I'm fine, really."

"Be that as it may, Mr. Potter, I still need to check you over before I can release you to return to classes. You three go get breakfast before classes start. I'll take care of Mr. Potter."

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked with a worried frown.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You go get breakfast. I'll meet you in class. Thanks." He glanced at his teammate who wasn't normally part of his group. "Thanks, Katie."

"No prob," she smiled and trotted away to join everyone else at breakfast.

It took a few more reassurances by both Harry and Madame Pomfrey before Ron and Hermione would leave him, but eventually they did when they reached the hospital wing. With concerned looks to each other, they bid him goodbye and headed to breakfast.

When Harry was settled on the edge of a bed, Madame Pomfrey stood before him running a diagnostic. "Care to tell me what happened?"

Harry wasn't exactly sure what happened, but he tried his best anyway. "I've been feeling sick all morning, kind of anxious. And all of a sudden, it got to be too much, and I knew I was going to throw up."

"Miss Granger and Miss Bell followed your dash into the toilet where you were sick for several minutes they said. Miss Johnson was dispatched to come and get me." Madame Pomfrey stopped her wand waving. "Is anxiety common for you?" She was reading over the parchment that was provided by her charm.

He shook his head.

"You were given a calming draught after a panic attack yesterday? By whom?"

"Professor Snape," he mumbled.

She hummed to herself. "I see nothing wrong with you, Mr. Potter, other than dehydration and malnutrition which is most likely caused by your being ill only moments ago. I will provide you with a calming draught. I want you to take one vial after breakfast and one before you go to bed for the next week. The doses must be taken at a minimum of 12 hours apart. Let's see if that helps any with this anxiety. You are to come to me immediately if you start to feel as you did this morning. Now, I will have some breakfast sent up for you and then give you a pass for class."

Harry gratefully took the vial from her, downing what he knew would make him feel so much better as it did yesterday. Harry handed her the empty vial and loaded the rest into his bag. He dutifully ate the porridge she had sent up, feeling the warm oats settle comfortably in his empty stomach. He wasn't able to finish the bowl, but he finished half and drank half the pumpkin juice.

She handed him a note for his class as he readied to leave. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Potter."

* * * * *

Remus felt a nervous anxiousness to see Harry again that morning. The boy startled him by how much he looked like Lily. He seemed to only have inherited the terribly messy, dark hair and the need for glasses from his father. Everything else was Lily. He was going to be a very handsome man when he was older.

He couldn't wait to get to know the son of his childhood friends. After so many years of being reassured by Dumbledore that Harry was safe and happy, and that if Remus were to contact him, it would jeopardize the boy's safety, Remus was eager to get to know him. He could only assume he hadn't been told much about his parents seeing as he wasn't living in the magical world. From what Dumbledore told him, Harry was living with a nice Muggle family in an upper-middle-class neighborhood. He had a brother who was around the same age with loving parents in the family that was fostering him.

Remus had so many stories to tell. Of course, having the boy close would serve to keep him out of harm's way and hopefully give Harry enough confidence to come to him if he found himself in trouble. Sirius supposedly was after Harry, but Remus was struggling to wrap his mind around that. He would trust Dumbledore's knowledge though and protect Harry with everything in him.

He felt his smile grow as he greeted the class of first year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. He knew that teaching was his calling. He had been lucky to get tutoring jobs in the Muggle world helping students with history and literature. 

As the last two students came in, Harry's two friends, without Harry, Remus felt a niggle of concern. Was he still suffering from the Dementor on the train? "Miss Granger, where is Mr. Potter?"

"Oh, he had to go see Madame Pomfrey this morning," she said nonchalantly, but Remus could detect a bit of underlying worry. She hurried to the seat beside Mr. Weasley (the fourth Mr. Weasley he met) without another word.

Remus told himself to check with the medi-witch later and began his first class.

* * * * *  
Harry was genuinely glad to get to Defense class. Professor Lupin had already proven he was competent at least, so Harry was excited to attend the class. 

"Ah, Mr. Potter, good to see you. Please take your seat," the professor greeted as Harry interrupted mid-syllabus review, handing the man the note from Madame Pomfrey.

Harry grabbed the seat next to Hermione and quietly pulled his parchment, ink, and quill out to take notes. 

The class was mostly a review of what they had learned and the professor's expectations for the year. Harry was enjoying the effects of the calming draught staving off the unease he could feel deep inside. Lupin assigned them a term-long research project they would have a day or two a month to work on during class hours, then dismissed them. 

On the way up to the common room after class, Harry placated Hermione and Ron that he was fine. He explained it away as a residual effect of the dementor. Hermione broke off to get to her elective, and Ron and Harry continued to Gryffindor tower. 

Harry was actually looking forward to the DADA project. They were to research a dark creature used as an offensive technique throughout history. Their papers needed to include everything they could find on the creature, how it had been used before, and what methods there were of defeating it.

Immediately, his thoughts went to the Basilisk he fought last year. It was a remnant of Voldemort's time at Hogwarts, and he most certainly used it as an offense against muggle-born students in the school.

"Decided what you're doing your research on," Ron asked setting up the chess set in their usual spot in the common room. 

"I was thinking the basilisk," Harry replied, his mind still coming up with ideas. He felt a little like Hermione.

"That's a good one! I figured for sure you'd want to look into the dementors."

Harry's thoughts of the basilisk stopped, his heart skipping a beat in fear. "Wh-why would you think that?"

Ron thankfully didn't pay attention to his stutter or how Harry's body suddenly stiffened. "Well, if they affected me like they do you, I'd want to know everything I could about how to stop them."

Harry was distracted the whole rest of their game, thinking on the validity of Ron's point. He did need to find a way to stop the dementors from affecting him so badly. Especially since they were stationed outside the school for the entire year. His nightmares were plagued with the images and feelings the dementors brought out on the train. The basilisk was gone. Killed by a sword through the roof of its mouth. The dementors were right outside, lazily floating along the school's border.


	5. Tuesday, 7 September 1993

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TRIGGER WARNING**: Descriptions and acts of self-harm (cutting). If this is a trigger for you, please discontinue reading this story. It will remain dark for quite a while.

The first weekend back at school seemed to fly by, and Harry was back in the doldrums of another week. The calming draught he was given to take twice daily seemed to be working well to stave off his anxiety and curb the worst of his nightmares. He still dreamed of the green flash of light, but his mother's screams for him were blessedly silent. He would still start to get jittery when the effects started wearing off. His skin would start crawling and he would start to feel nauseous. Today was really the first day he noticed the effects wearing off a lot sooner than the 12-hour window. 

Within six hours, Harry's skin started crawling, and he started itching at the skin on the underside of his forearms. The distraction was enough to keep his focus through lunch where he pushed food around his plate and took only a few bites and Transfiguration. It started getting harder to breathe when he left the Transfiguration classroom crowded by his classmates on their way out. 

Harry got caught up in the group of third year Gryffindors heading to the common room to drop their bags. Everyone was talking around him, but he couldn't hear anything over the buzzing in his ears. He stopped abruptly and held back a cringe when Seamus knocked into him.

Hermione turned from where she had been discussing the Transfiguration homework with Neville. "Harry?"

Her inquiry stopped the whole group and all their eyes turned to him. He took a bolstering breath. "You go ahead. I need to go get something from the library." He hoped his lie wouldn't be scrutinized, and he breathed a sigh of relief when everyone else turned back on their way except for Hermione and Ron.

"We'll go with you," she said, waving off the other Gryffindors.

Harry knew he wasn't going to get rid of Hermione easy at all with that excuse and feeling monumentally stupid for using it, so he took another breath and led his friends towards the library. He hadn't really _wanted_ to go to the library; it was just an excuse to get out of the crowd of classmates. Getting rid of Ron and Hermione wasn't going to work no matter how much he told them it wasn't necessary. He wished desperately to be alone. He needed to be alone.

They spent their time in the library getting books for the project Lupin assigned. Harry found a small novel-sized tome strictly about dementors that he checked out and put in his bag before telling Hermione and Ron that he wanted to get back to the dorms. Hermione waved them off as she continued to browse for more books to add to her stack of six, and Harry and Ron left. Harry relished in the silence of the hallways. His stomach was knotted in anxiety, and his arms were itching fiercely, but the silence was blissful.

"Are you feeling better after you know?" Ron gestured lazily.

"I'm fine," Harry replied. He was exhausted, feeling on edge, and his heart started pounding when Ron broke the silence. He felt scared. He felt vulnerable. He felt nauseous. "I've gotta go do something," Harry mumbled.

"What?"

He struggled with finding some excuse to be alone. "I'm going to go see Hedwig for a bit. You go check on Scabbers, yeah?"

Ron looked at him like he wasn't sure if he believed Harry, but nodded. "Alright, mate, see you later."

"See you." Harry didn't hesitate to quickly get away. He felt his breath hitching. As soon as he was out of sight of Ron, he shoved his way into an abandoned room, leaning up against the door behind him as he panted through his panicked breathing. He sunk to the floor as he tangled his fingers in his hair, pulling to try and find distraction. He didn't know what was wrong with him. Why all of a sudden was he experiencing this anxiety? Sure, he had anxiety before, a little, but since the dementor, he felt like he was drowning. His vision was blurry, and black spots were dancing in his periphery. 

He was cold and felt like he was exposed to the cool, like his clothing no longer existed. His throat burned with impacted tears and a bitter, salty taste filled his mouth causing him to gag. He kept pulling at his hair as it felt like someone was touching him all over. Stop it. Stop it. 

His desperate pleas were as silent as the dead of night. He whimpered, trying to make himself as small as possible, get away from the feeling of someone touching him, running their hand over his chest... stomach... lower...

Finally, a sharp pain caused him to cry out and the feelings faded slowly.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there on the cold stone floor, but when his head was clear again, he had bloody fingernail marks on his left wrist where he had felt the earlier pain. He stared at the bloody marks as if in a trance. Slowly, he began to take stock of his body. He felt as weak as a kitten, and he could feel the remnants of trembling in his limbs. His fingers, one hand with blood under the nails, had strands of black hair wrapped around them he was sure he pulled out in his distress. His head was pounding in time with the stinging in his wrist. He still felt like he could vomit at any moment. It was starting to become a norm for him that he could push away for the most part, but he saw next to him that he had thrown up at some point, he just didn't know when. He felt hot all over, but shivery from cold.

When he felt like he had control over his arms again, he sluggishly pulled out his wand and – with the vanishing spell he learned from his Charms book – disappeared the mess beside him. His stomach and throat burned as if in remembrance. 

He needed to find something to permanently stop these... nightmares? Feelings? Memories? He wasn't even sure what they were. No one had ever touched him like that. The Dursleys only touched him when knocking him around. Besides the hugs from Hermione, Harry couldn't remember any other gentle touches. This phantom touch, though gentle, made him disgusted and feel dirty. He felt similar to how he was after spending all day in the garden in the extreme summer heat with drinking enough water that he wouldn't stop sweating, dirt caked on his face and hands. It would take him days before he felt truly clean again. Granted it was mostly because he was only allowed three minutes under cold water.

He continued to sit against the door, his legs splayed out in front of him and his arms sitting lifelessly atop, palms up. He continued to stare at the jagged scratches he made, feeling oddly at peace. He wondered for a brief minute if he could use the nib of his quill to make neater marks next time. Maybe his potions knife. So much in his life was messy already, he needed something clean. Pristine. 

He let the loose sleeves of his robe fall over his hands as he gathered his bookbag and made it back onto wobbly legs. He still had no clue how long he was here, but he knew his friends were worried for him all the same.

When he felt capable, he exited the room with a deep breath. His eyes immediately found one of the clocks decorating the halls all over the castle. It was dinner time. Ron and Hermione must be going spare. He looked around to get his bearings before finding the direction he needed to go. He wasn't thrilled with going to dinner since his stomach was feeling so tetchy, but he knew his friends wouldn't let it go if he didn't show up. It was going to be hard enough as it was to get them off his back for disappearing so long.

He was glad to find that he wasn't the only one late to dinner. A small, blonde girl from Ravenclaw and two older Slytherins holding hands were arriving at the same time as him. He lugged his bag down the aisle and sat heavily between Ron and Seamus. Hermione opened her mouth, probably to scold him, when Ron clapped him on the back and greeted him through a mouthful of food. Harry was glad he had gritted his teeth and prepared for Ron's normal greeting or the table may have been decorated with whatever vomit he had left to expel.

Harry didn't say anything as he scooped a small helping of green beans, roasted potatoes and chicken. They were the only things that looked somewhat appetizing, but he wasn't promising himself it would stay down before he could take his next calming draught.

When Ron tried to entice Harry into a game of chess, Hermione nagged them to work on their homework. Harry begged off telling them he had a headache and was going to read the book about dementors in his bed. His ears picked up the whispers from his friends as he left them.

After a few minutes of his breath catching in fear at every little shift in the air – mostly other boys heading up the stairs to their dorms or Dean sketching quietly behind his curtains, something he tended to do when he needed time away from people – Harry couldn't wait anymore. He pulled his nighttime dose of calming draught from his drawer and downed it without thinking any more about it. It was only two hours early. Surely that wouldn't matter. 

He capped the vial and dropped it back into his bedside drawer before leaning back against his pillows with a heavy sign as the calming effect started to warm him from head to toe. His scrambled anxiety was soothed into a purring almost like a cat in his chest and belly. He breathed a sigh and went back to trying to read his book.

Wednesday, 8 September 1993

Harry awoke slowly, unsure what it was that woke him. As he sat up, his book fell off his chest. He realized he must've fallen asleep after taking the calming draught. When he peered out of his curtains, he saw it was still dark, so he assumed it was early morning. No one was stirring in the dorm, his roommates snoring softly. He felt refreshed, invigorated. He couldn't remember sleeping that well in a long time. 

Since he was feeling so good for the first time this term, Harry quietly got up and grabbed his toiletries. He would take a nice, relaxing, hot shower and enjoy the time to himself. He could feel the edge of his anxiety around the calming effects of the potion, but he focused on his other feelings. His stomach was growling softly; he felt like he couldn't breathe without a centaur sitting atop his chest.

He took his time in the shower. He finished and decided he would get to work on some of his homework. He hadn't really done any of it yet besides the essay for Lupin and starting to read about his research report. He dressed in his uniform, completed his morning ablutions, grabbed his morning calming draught and an extra just in case, and headed down to the common room with his bag.

It was 3:00, but Harry had fallen asleep around 7:30 the night before, so he didn't worry too much. He could feel the anxiety more now, like the tide in the Thames. Slowly, the calm was being swallowed by deepening water, but while he had it, he was going to take advantage of the silence to get some of his essays done. He had another four hours before he could take the calming draught again.

At the sounds of the dorms wakening, Harry couldn't stand it anymore. His anxiety over the last two hours quickly went from manageable to hearing whispers and feeling a soft puff of air over his ear. The first few times he felt it, he physically swatted at the feeling thinking it was a fly, but once the whispering started, the "good boy" and "so good", Harry knew he was imagining it. The second the handsy sensation returned, Harry uncorked the vial and poured it into his mouth. 

Oliver Wood was the first to come down the stairs at 6:15. He smiled brightly at seeing Harry downstairs. "Heya, Harry! Getting ready for when quidditch practices start back bright and early?"

Harry gave him a lazy smile as the Keeper sat beside him and pulled out one of his own assignments. "Yeah, something like that." Harry honestly couldn't say he was looking forward to quidditch, but he placated the other boy.

He made it through his classes without incident for the most part, but the calming draught started losing its effect in divination as Trelawny continued to predict his death. Harry figured that since he took it so early this morning, that's why his anxiety was returning so early. He ended up downing his second vial at lunch, which gave him enough energy and calm to get through charms.

He started feeling the effects again just before dinner.

"I've got to grab something really quick," he told Ron and Hermione before dashing up to his dorm. He opened his bedside drawer and he felt a shock run through him and his heart stutter in his chest. He was down to his last two vials of calming draught. How had he not realized it? And he should have had enough to last him through Friday. Madame Pomfrey was adamant about taking it every 12 hours and no sooner. How was he going to get by without it?

He started feeling sweat gathering on his brow. He wanted to throw up. At the rate it was becoming ineffective, Harry wouldn't be able to sleep at all tonight, not to mention any other time. And Snape in the morning for potions –

He cut off that thought. Potions. Snape's student store room was next to the supply cupboard. He stored the best potions in there as an example for other classes and some even went to Madame Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing if Snape deemed them good enough. Calming Draught was a fourth-year potion according to Hermione. Maybe there would be some leftover from last school year.

Feeling a bit more hopeful about his situation, Harry uncapped and drank his second to last vial. His stomach clenched as it hit, mixing with the lack of food. Despite feeling calmer and not throwing up as often while taking the draught, he could still only manage a few bites at meals.

He remembered he checked out a book he found in the library when looking for material about dementors. _Drinking Your Way to Calm_ by Rod Simmerly. It had the recipes for several different calming draughts: some to calm your racing heart, some to calm anger, some to calm blood pressure, and the mild, generalized calming draught that Harry was given. There were also recipes for stronger draughts which Harry was pretty sure he needed. He'd write down the ingredient list in his Potions text so he could hide away any ingredients he didn't have as well.

He rejoined Ron and Hermione feeling like he could survive the rest of the night without a crippling anxiety attack, and he let the sounds of their arguing wash over him.

**TRIGGER WARNING**

Thursday, 9 September 1993

Harry awoke with a jolt and bit back the scream that wanted to escape. That whispery voice on his ear, along with the utter feelings of helplessness, violation, and betrayal, made their presence known in his dream. When he awoke, he stumbled out of bed to the loo and vomited. The hands were all over him, running through his hair, up his leg, over his bum. He couldn't get away from it.

He suddenly couldn't breathe. There wasn't enough air! He choked and gasped as his vision danced with the dark spots. His stomach continued rebelling despite having nothing remaining. 

Why would he dream of someone violating him? He learned about what it was in primary. Molestation. He was dreaming of being molested. It didn't make any sense. He had never been molested!

He was scratching viciously at his arms which seemed to make him feel a little less panicky. He spied Seamus's toiletry kit hanging from the wall behind him. Seamus had been gloating about how he started shaving over the summer and his dad and granddad taught him the "proper" way to shave. Seamus had a shiny, new straight razor with an ever-sharp charm in his kit. Wobbling to his feet and stumbling to the bag like a toddler, Harry dug around until his fingers closed around smooth metal.

He remembered the feeling and how his mind slowed down the last time he had drawn blood. He prayed for that relief as he dragged the blade across the side of his wrist. He didn't want to kill himself; he just needed that blissful trance he fell into before. At first, he didn't even feel the cut. Once blood started filling, then running out, the sting of pain made him gasp in his first full breath in what seemed like ages.

He slid down the wall, watching the cut start to clot. It was shallow, superficial really. His breathing slowed as he focused on the cut. When blood stopped pooling, he felt the unease return. If he made it a little deeper, it would bleed for longer. He put the razor to his sensitive skin on the underside of his wrist this time, just where his blue vein disappeared. If he cut there, surely it would bleed more, but wouldn't kill him. 

Taking a hitching breath, Harry slid the sharp edge of the razor across the underside of his wrist. Again, it took a second for the pain to register and when it did, Harry gasped. Blood pooled quickly in the cut and started flowing around his arm, drip, drip, dripping onto the stone floor. He quickly dropped the razor and wrapped his free hand around the bleeding appendage. The pain was bad, but he could handle it. Afraid he would bleed out, Harry squeezed with his right hand. Pressure always helped him before when he got a cut. 

The dripping was slowing, and Harry realized in that moment that his mind was peaceful. Sure, he was worried about bleeding too much, but there was nothing else. Nothing but the here and now.

Slowly, he eased his right hand off his wrist. The blood was still pooling in the cut and every few seconds it would drip onto the floor, but it had definitely slowed. He stared at the cut he made. His scratches from his nails were ragged and ugly, but this was straight and neat. A perfect, thin line of Gryffindor red. He continued staring, letting himself drift off until his mind was wonderfully silent. 

Once the bleeding stopped, Harry felt better. He slowly unfolded from the floor and carried Seamus's razor to the sink to rinse off his blood. He dried it with a nearby towel and placed it carefully back into the bag.

Harry rinsed the congealed blood from his skin, leaving behind a red, raw line. Blood pooled in the cut again, but didn't run over or fall. Feeling utterly exhausted, he shut off the lights in the loo and returned to his bed. The clock on the wall told him it was just after 2 a.m.

With a new peace, Harry slid under his blankets and fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

When Harry next awoke, he felt a calm he hadn't felt yet this school year. Immediately, he looked to his wrist and smiled a little at the red scab. The fingernail marks were almost gone and the cut he made on the side of his arm was more like he stabbed himself with a flat-tipped knife than the smooth, straight line that reached from one side of his wrist to the other. Some of the crusty blood came off when he ran his finger roughly over the larger cut, but the aching sting felt good in an odd way. Almost like an accomplishment.

Maybe he didn't need the calming draught anymore?

"Good morning," he greeted his roommates cheerfully in the bathroom as they were all in various states of dress or undress. Seamus glared at him, always the grumpiest of the lot in the mornings. 

Ron looked at him oddly as he buttoned his shirt. "Morning, mate. What has you in such a good mood?"

Harry smiled a little. "I don't know. I just slept well, I guess." Preferring his morning showers, Harry ducked into a stall and completed his morning rituals.

When he was ready to go, he grabbed his potions knife that he would need in class that morning and dropped it into his pocket instead of its usual place in his bag. He wanted to have it close by in case he became overwhelmed again. 

"Morning, Hermione," he greeted when the girl came downstairs.

She gave him a suspicious look when she replied, and Harry wondered if he should probably tone down his good mood to not raise so much suspicion. It was quite unusual, especially this year, for Harry to be in a good mood. The thought of why sobered him up immediately.

He trailed behind Ron and Hermione as they argued about their pets down to the Great Hall, ruminating on the dementors and why they affected him so badly. Why did he hear his mother's last minutes when he was so young and shouldn't remember? Why did he pass out when they came near? Was it always going to be like that?

When he sat at his place at the Gryffindor table, he started fidgeting. His stomach, while growling for nourishment, was starting to feel queasy again. He made himself some buttered toast and took a scoop of blueberries. The smell of bacon and fried tomatoes was making him want to gag. It was too much. He kept his head down, his nose taking in the smell of his buttered toast to keep it in.

He finished quickly and excused himself to the loo to wash up before potions. In the stall, he unbuttoned the sleeve of his uniform shirt and pulled his potions knife from his pocket. Maybe a little superficial cut would bring his mood back around. He felt like everyone was judging him, judging his reactions to every little thing, ready to laugh when he showed any weakness.

He dragged the knife above the previous cut on his wrist, not quite as deep, but deeper than his first cut. He dug the fingers of his right hand into his wrist, drawing more blood to pool in the cut. He hissed a bit at the sting, but felt that peace overcome him again. He let it bleed for a few more breaths before applying pressure. When it stopped bleeding, he left the stall, cleaned the knife and the wound, then buttoned his shirt back like nothing was wrong.

"Mate!" Ron called when Harry stepped out of the bathroom with his bag. "Hermione sent me to find you. We're going to be late to potions if you don't hurry."

"I'm coming." 

The boys hastened down into the dungeon, making it just in time to file in with the rest of the class. They made it to their seats: Ron beside Hermione and Harry with Neville. Harry felt a nervous anticipation. He had the list of ingredients for the calming draught from the book. The book claimed it was strong enough to only need one per day which meant less ingredients needed. He flipped open his book to the invigoration draught that Snape was lecturing on today and read through his small list of notes scrawled on the pages. 

Cacao beans (Raw)  
Valerian Root (Harry had that in his potions kit.)  
Root from a mature Kava (He wasn't sure what that was, but hopefully Snape had it in his supply cupboard.)  
Peppermint (Again, he had it and the next two.)  
Porcupine Quills   
Lion's Mane  
African Ashwagandha (He thanked every deity there was that Snape alphabetized his cupboard which would make it easier for Harry to find the ingredients he had no clue about.)  
Reishi Mushroom  
Agrippa (A common balancing ingredient that was standard for most potions and was another ingredient he had plenty of.)

He tried to pay attention to the lecture, but he really couldn't. His mind was running laps around everything that could go wrong with this... how many ways he could get caught... Plus, he still planned to sneak into the potions cupboard to see if there were any calming draughts he could take until he could have his ready. Just in case the cutting stopped working like the regular draught did. He would need to be prepared.

Harry got himself lost in the crowd of his classmates rushing for ingredients to be able to meet Snape's 45-minute deadline for potion completion. Harry wasn't too worried about that. Snape always graded him unfairly. When he felt like no one was looking, he snuck into the potions' cupboard, closing the door behind him. There was very little light, so Harry whispered a _lumos_. His wand tip lit dimly and he waved it in front of the potions. He could hear the crowd thinning out beyond the door, and with a silent cheer, he pocketed the five vials of calming draught he found under "C".

Turning off his lit wand, he peeked out the door and when the last student ducked into the supply cupboard, Harry squeezed out of his and stood waiting for his turn with the ingredients.

"Sorry Harry," Neville apologized as he bumped into Harry when he backed out of the supply cupboard. Harry waved him off and took his own turn in the cupboard. He made quick work, thanking the Dursleys for teaching him how to quickly take the things he needed (like food) from the ice box so he didn't "waste all the electricity". He pocketed small jars with cacao beans and dried Reishi mushroom. A handful of ashwagandha leaves and kava roots. 

"Potter!" Snape's harsh voice caused him to jump just as he put the last handful in his pocket and he knocked into a shelf sending ingredient jars crashing to the floor. Snape snarled at him and Harry was grateful for what must be an unbreakable charm on the jars. "Detention, Potter. Seven tonight. Stop dawdling."

Harry hurriedly started stacking the jars back onto the shelf, not worrying about the order as Snape stalked away. He let out his breath and started gathering the ingredients he needed for his potion today.

He was feeling much better as he returned to his seat and started working on his potion. Neville was muttering the step's directions to himself over and over as Snape stalked the room.

Harry was on step 17 of 28 when Snape called for them to bottle what they had. "I will take off 10 points for every step you were unable to get to. Potions on my desk. Clean up your stations. You're dismissed."

Harry heaved a sigh as he bottled his potion. Would he be getting negative points? Even Neville's potion was four steps off and off a few shades from where it should be, but Harry really couldn't be bothered. Snape was going to fail him no matter what he did. He cleaned out his cauldron, returned the ingredients he didn't use, packed his bag and joined Ron and Hermione who were waiting at the door.

"What happened, Harry?" Hermione asked anxiously when the door was shut behind them.

"Nothing. I just took too long before I started." He tried to dismiss her inquiry and put the class behind him, but Hermione was having none of it.

"I mean the detention. Snape looked furious when he shouted your name."

"Yeah, mate, I thought for sure he was about to drag you out of there by your ear or something."

"Oh, I knocked into a shelf and a whole lot of jars fell. They didn't break or anything. He was just in his usual bad mood," Harry deflected. Did Snape see him stealing the last ingredient? His heart started pounding making his head a little dizzy. He breathed shallowly as if breathing too loudly would bring the wrath of Snape down on him. But no, if Snape had caught him, Harry would be dead. Snape wouldn't have let him leave the classroom if he knew Harry had filched ingredients. The vials and jars in his pockets started to feel exceptionally heavy.

"I'm going to run to the toilet before divination," Harry said as they passed a boys' toilet.

"We'll wait," Hermione promised him. 

Harry went in, did his business, and washed his hands. He transferred the ingredients from his pockets into his bag, making sure to put the roots and leaves into some empty jars he had so they wouldn't get contaminated or something. He then pulled out a vial of calming draught and downed it, taking a few seconds for it to begin its work. It tasted a bit different than what Madame Pomfrey gave him and it seemed to take longer to go in effect, but he wrote it off as it being a bit past full effectiveness. The label was dated 13-1-92, so it wasn't ancient.

When he felt calm again, he left the toilet and rejoined Ron and Hermione as they made their way to the North Tower where, once again, Trelawney predicted his death. Harry was sure the woman would give him an Outstanding at the end of the term if he wrote about his death in every essay. The draught was keeping his peace, though, so he ignored her as he continued to pretend as if he saw things in the crystal ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** If you or someone you know is struggling with self-harming behavior or are in a crisis, please get help! In the US, text 741741 to get into contact with the Crisis Text Line. In Canada, you can contact the Crisis Center Canada at 1-833-456-4566, 211 for more local resources, or 911 in emergencies. And in the UK, you have several options: Call 116 123, text "shout" ("ym" if you're under 19) to 85258, or if you're under 19, you can call 0800 1111. Please, know that it is ok to need help with your problems. Needing help is not a sign of weakness but of strength. Strength to know that you alone cannot solve it. Strength to reach out.
> 
> If there are other people in other countries reading this story and need someone to talk to, please do an internet search for your local crisis line. **


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